So, it's a Sunday in the middle of a long weekend. My girlfriend calls around noon. "Wanna go to the gym?" Hell, yes. The gym on a Sunday? Doubly virtuous, extra calories burned by virtue of time and day.

We go on a shopping expedition afterwards, she to pick up a serenity fountain for her office, me to stock up on cold and flu meds for the darling (and flu-ish) husband. I even make a pit stop at the Chinese restaurant for chicken soup.

I come home, bearing gifts and sustenance, only to be asked:

"Did Leslie get a hold of you?"

Uh, no. Why'd she call? (A friend, but not a particularly close one, and one with whom telephone communication is infrequent and sporadic.)

She had tickets to Game Four of the League Championship Series. She is my only true blue, die-hard baseball buddy. She had an extra ticket and called me. But I was out. I was at the gym, watching the Dolphins as I slogged my way over hills on the elliptical trainer.

I watched one of the best baseball games ever played -- ever-- from the comfort of my living room. But I'd rather have been in the stadium.

When it comes to stadium events this month, I am just not on a winning streak.